Once the news turns into a cosmic joke, there's no need to dwell on it anymore.
Instead all that's needed is to admire the quintessential beauty of Pope's portrait of the quisling Greg Hunt as a sock puppet ... though without the wit or wisdom of Triumph the insult comic dog, and as always, more Pope here.
As for King Canute himself, it seems nobody much likes him anymore.
As usual, when it comes to Q and A, the pond has to rely on others, such as Abbott gets 'Hewsoned' on Q and A. (with forced video).
The trouble with 'getting Hewsoned' is that it's a bit like getting chewed by a gummy shark, and the hapless gummy was again out and about this morning on RN, repeating the jaw boning.
But the pond did have the dubious pleasure of watching the quisling Turnbull do his usual self-pleasuring routine in public, somehow thinking an appearance on 7.30 made up for his gutless wonder falling into quisling line on the matter of not appearing on Q and A.
All it showed was the infinite capacity of some for self-delusion and self-regard.
No matter how much he tried to use weasel words, the turgid toff, the preening ponce still scored the headline he both desired and feared: Turnbull refuses to back PM on Q and A (with forced video).
The result was some wonderfully comical headlines:
But the Graudian had the best of them, capturing the essence of the blame that's never been properly sheeted home to the war-mongers - and let us not forget Abbott was a war-monger cabinet minister.
But it was the big Mal line below the gummy photo that captured the best of the foolish fop:
The ban was aimed at ministers and not the ABC?
You'd have to be a truly pathetic quisling of the first water to peddle that sort of clap trap.
Of course you won't find any of this at resentful reptile headquarters. Instead the reptiles are still doing a King Canute, and brooding:
Yes, it means that baiting the gormless, useless, King Canute is something very easy to do, something easily done, and so a play on the words involving a child still results in a basic truth - baiting Abbott is so easy, like fool's mate, that no one should really take it on, or mention renewable energy, as opposed to say Chaucer's injunction that "It is no child's play for a modern, sensible woman to take a husband". (oops, perhaps the pond got that muddled).
But enough of the chit-chat, because today is Caterist day, and all students of the reptiles have the onerous chore of deciphering the runes and ferreting through the entrails.
Now the Caterist has always struck the pond as the thickest of the commentariat doing the rounds - short a sandwich for the picnic by a country mile, and that's a long way as Tamworthians measure a mile (well, you wouldn't start from there, would you?)
But never mind, because the Oz revealed a wondrous sense of irony in the juxtaposing splash:
Of course it might be proposed that the cold-hearted, welfare-hating, black-bashing Gary Johns isn't a Liberal, and indeed, he's somehow managed the herculean feat of being further to the right of Tony Abbott than Genghis Khan, yet still the face of the humanity-less Johns up against the gormless bien peasant one is piquant, and compelled the pond to read on ... only to discover how the essential dullness of the man can shine through while tackling any subject:
And that's how Liberals show their humanity.
Yep, the enormous follies of Campbell Newman are forgiven and forgotten, swept under the carpet and not mentioned, and it also turns out that showing the human side of Liberalism is to denounce Queenslanders as dummies, dickheads, losers and dunces, a bunch of mug punters so dumb they think an electorate is slang for expectorate.
Who could argue with that?
And then the pond finally worked out why the Caterist writes it all.
It's his bounden duty to mention the immortal Ming the merciless at least once a column, so that the treasured memories of pig iron Bob can continue to live on:
What painful, tragic stuff.
And how shallow. At the end all that the Caterist is prepared to discuss is a form of words - ceding the language of social justice.
Not actual policies. Just the language.
Do the pitch, close the deal - always be closing - and then screw the punters and all will be well.
As if King Canute and the current crop of Liberal fundamentalists is going to pay attention to this toothless, tragic gummy shark ... why bother with niceties or language when all you have to is shout "it's coal, coal, coal for Australia" ...
Which is why all that's left is First Dog and laughter, as the dawgie catches up with groceries, first celebrated by Katharine Murphy in a very funny piece, published seven days ago, For Tony Abbott, financial stability starts in the fruit and veg aisle, and the pond began to think once again of Chauncry Gardner (and more First Dog here).